


all ends with her eyes

by NotPersephone



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Bedannibal in Florence, Canon Compliant, F/M, Jealous Bedelia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-08
Updated: 2018-01-08
Packaged: 2019-03-02 08:52:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,652
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13314732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NotPersephone/pseuds/NotPersephone
Summary: “The museum is so lucky to have acquired such an export,” her eyes gleam flirtatiously and her hand reaches to touch Hannibal’s arm. It is a lingering touch, one that soon progresses into a decisive squeeze of fingers over his forearm. Hannibal smiles politely, no doubt enjoying the complement, but does not comment on the other, inappropriate contact. Neither does he retreat.





	all ends with her eyes

**Author's Note:**

  * For [awayfromsight](https://archiveofourown.org/users/awayfromsight/gifts).



It has all become strangely familiar and oddly pleasant; the golden lights of the chandeliers melting with the brown shadows of frescos and the brilliant gleam of expensive jewellery on display. The harmonious music is drown out by the babble of voices and clinking of crystal. The alcohol is poured generously, ensuring the tongues are loose and the spirits are high. The world of academia in Italy is much more glamorous than Bedelia presumed. Or perhaps it is merely the allure of Florence; the birthplace of Renaissance art requires an appropriate chic after all.

At times she wonders if Hannibal truly secured his position in the museum based on his merits and not his social graces skills. Not that she would ever question his intellect, but this is the third invitation they have received this month. His work takes place among sparkling champagne glasses and expensive attires, rather than the dusty volumes in the library.

Hannibal’s hand rests on the small of her back as they move into the main hall. A protective gesture she does not need, but she finds comfort in it. Her hair swishes delicately between her shoulder blades, a cobalt gown shimmering silently around her figure like a cool water of a summer spring. Hannibal takes two glasses of champagne from the tray of the silent waiter and offers her one without delay. She inclines her head a fraction as she accepts the glass and Hannibal smiles broadly at her. Admittedly, Bedelia enjoys the evenings and he ensures it each time. They are a striking couple and Bedelia knows it well; even without Hannibal’s growing reputation, all eyes fall on them the moment they arrive. There is excitement in that and it gets Bedelia’s pulse racing each time. She had never considered she would find masquerading under aliases and parading in high society so _thrilling_.

Other guests gravitate towards them at once as if wanting to bask in their beauty or even catch a glimpse of the most sought-after couple of the moment. The current circle of admirers gathered around them consists of the chairman of the museum and his wife, Signor and Signora Lippi, and two young assistants whose names have already slipped from Bedelia’s mind. All the fresh faces of eager men hanging on Hannibal’s every word, but also on every bat of her eyelashes, begin to blend into one. Her eyes move to the couple instead; they appear to be in their early sixties, but one can only deduct it from the man’s face. His wife took great measures to attempt to stop the effects of passing time, with varied results. Her lips are swollen red and her décolleté gown frames her breasts in a way that suggests a proud display of a new purchase. The woman’s arm rests around her husband’s in a seemingly loving gesture, but her eyes dart towards Hannibal, more prominently as the conversation becomes more animated. Soon enough, “Dr Fell” is engaged in another discourse and presents the superiority of Botticelli’s portrayals of Simonetta Vespucci over Piero Di Cosimo’s with his usual flair and charm.

“But the beauty is in the eye of the beholder,” he concludes with a smirk, attempting to sound modest, causing sudden outburst of laughter from the gathered admirers, especially from Signora Lippi, now moving closer to Hannibal, her husband suddenly forgotten.

“The museum is so lucky to have acquired such an export,” her eyes gleam flirtatiously and her hand reaches to touch Hannibal’s arm. It is a lingering touch, one that soon progresses into a decisive squeeze of fingers over his forearm. Hannibal smiles politely, no doubt enjoying the complement, but does not comment on the other, inappropriate contact. Neither does he retreat.

The hold of Bedelia’s fingers on the stem of her glass tightens and she corrects herself, trying to relax her grip. She takes a sip of the champagne instead, but it suddenly tastes sour on her tongue. The displeasure must have shown on her face, because one of the young men proposes fetching her another drink. Bedelia disregards him with a single word and chastises herself for drawing unwanted attention in a first place.

Hannibal’s eyes immediately rest on the assistant in question, his gaze alert and sharp, but he seems to be satisfied with her dismissal of the man. She can take care of herself after all, but the same cannot be said about her husband, she concludes watching the chairman’s wife still clinging to his arm, her hand almost resting on his chest now. Bedelia’s eyes move to the chairman, but he appears to be unconcerned with his wife’s attention being so completely elsewhere.

The shy sound of strings announces the return of orchestra from their break, gently overpowering the chatter of voices. Hannibal looks at Bedelia at once, but the other woman wraps her hand around his arm more securely and gazes at him expectantly.

“I would love to dance with you, Dottore,” she chirps excitedly in the tone that is utterly unbecoming of a woman of her position and age, “I know your wife would not mind,” she briefly turns to look at Bedelia, not really expecting her to reply. But Hannibal does; his eyes rest on Bedelia, waiting for her word.

“I do not,” Bedelia states calmly, but her words lack conviction. Hannibal is about to say something, but is pulled towards the middle of the hall instead.

As the woman whisks Hannibal away, he gazes at Bedelia once more with an apologetic and heartful look, but her face remains inexpressive. Still, her eyes follow him and Signora Lippi as they take their position on the marble floor.

The remaining men now turn their attention to Bedelia, eager to win her favour, but she barely registers their words. She watches as Hannibal begins to lead, holding the woman at an appropriate distance, but she attempts to close the gap and press herself closer to him.

“Your wife is _lovely_. How long have you been married?” Bedelia turns to the chairman and asks suddenly.

“Over thirty years,” he replies with a smile, his English heavily accented, clearly enjoying her notice.

“That is impressive,” she continues, “A wonderful example for any newly married couple. Such lasting and _faithful_ relationship.”

The man smiles again, less cheerful now, more of a well-practiced trick, but remains silent.

“A marriage takes work, wouldn’t you agree?” Bedelia presses on.

“Yes,” the man nods his head, but does not seem eager to elaborate on the subject. He focuses on his drink instead, still appearing to be unmindful of his wife’s behaviour.

“Excuse me,” he motions to his now empty glass and withdraws abruptly, leaving Bedelia and the two other men.

She watches his swift departure and finishes her own drink. The champagne still tastes more bitter than it should, but Bedelia does not mind anymore. She allows one of the assistants to relieve her of the empty glass as her gaze returns to the people dancing.

Signora Lippi appears to be having the time of her life, while Hannibal attempts to keep his gentlemanly manners. Luckily, the musical piece comes to an end at last and Hannibal escorts the woman back, her hand still wrapped tightly around his arm.

His eyes immediately fall on Bedelia; he notices her impassive gaze and extracts himself from the woman’s grip.

“I look forward to seeing you at the museum,” he dismisses the assistants, his tone polite but firm, and they disappear at once, not wanting to overstay their welcome.

“Perhaps another drink?” he turns to Bedelia, his eyes still examining the expression on her face.

“I would love one,” it is Signora Lippi that replies instead. Bedelia keeps silent. Hannibal nods his head and heads to the bar located in the far corner of the hall.

Bedelia and Signora Lippi are left alone.

“How are settling in Florence, Signora Fell?” the woman addresses her politely, looking at her properly for the first time this evening, “Have people been welcoming to you?”

“Quiet overtly so,” Bedelia responds; the slight derision in her tone is lost on the chairman’s wife.

“Your husband is so _wonderful_ ,” the woman continues as Bedelia presumed she would. She watches her cautiously as she sings Hannibal’s praise.

“I have been very lucky myself,” she adds as if suddenly remembering she is married.

“I was told you had been married for a long time,” Bedelia interjects casually.

“Oh yes,” Signora exclaims proudly, “I can’t remember the time of my life when we were not together.” She laughs; the sound gives an impression of a pre-recorded one, resonating hollow from frequent use.

“It is quite admirable that you still attend social functions together despite the separation,” the words leave Bedelia’s lips swiftly and she sees as the woman’s eyes open wide with consternation.

“We aren’t-” she begins to explain, but it appears her English has suddenly failed her.

“Oh, I didn’t mean to find fault,” Bedelia does not allow her to finish, “I think it’s tremendous you put your public functions above your private issues.”

Bedelia’s demeanour remains calm and amicable, but every word is like a precisely pointed dagger with the sharpest of edges, finding its target without any effort.

The only colour remaining on the woman’s face is the vulgar red of her lipstick. Bedelia continues to look at her with a gracious smile and appraising eyes, but says nothing more. Sudden silence descends between them and Bedelia enjoys its heavy cloak.

“Excuse me, I think my husband will be looking for me,” the woman manages to speak at last, “It was a pleasure to meet you. Please convey the same to your husband.”

“The pleasure was all mine,” Bedelia says cordially, a charming smile still adorning her lips, as the woman turns and leaves.

 

On the other side of the hall, Hannibal’s eyes survey the wine selection behind the bar, looking for the most suitable one for his wife. She did not seem to enjoy the champagne and although he knows it was not the quality of the drink that had caused her distress, he wants to ensure she will like this one. He finally settles on red, Bolgheri, an acceptable vintage. The bartender pours him two glasses while he turns to look at two women waiting in the distance.

They appear to be enjoying an amiable conversation, but Hannibal’s eyes remain alert and soon enough, he noticed a sudden grin on Bedelia’s face. He sees the colour being drained from the other woman’s face and her rushed exit. He cannot help but smile as he approaches Bedelia with drinks in his hands.

“The chairman’s wife left in a hurry. Has something happened?” he watches her, a smile forming on his lips.

“I believe she had urgent matters to attend to,” Bedelia replies taking a drink out of his hand.

“Perhaps she was upset by something that was said during your _brief_ conversation,” Hannibal presses on, a content smile still on his lips, peering into her eyes.

“I do not think so,” she holds his gaze, her blue eyes remain impenetrable, ice without a single crack.

Hannibal is tempted to kiss her and taste the poison on her lips, the one that drove the woman away, but he knows she would not approve.

“She was quite pleasant, although a tad too ostentatious,” Bedelia comments coolly, taking a slow sip of her drink.

“Are you-,” the word jealous hangs on the tip of his tongue, but he swallows it, “As the new member of the faculty, I am expected to make acquaintances. But there is only one person I would like to spend this evening with.”

“And who would that be?” the ice in her eyes sparkles giving the impression of shards. Hannibal thinks of the ways past the sharp edges; he wants to look after her suddenly bruised heart with affection she deserves.

The orchestra strikes a new tune, a waltz this time; it feels as if dedicated especially to them. Hannibal takes the glass from her hand and sets it aside before extending his arm and looking at Bedelia with a smile and a silent invitation. She holds his gaze, but makes no attempt to take his hand. His gesture does not falter, he does not care if people stare; he is prepared to stand here all evening, waiting for her to accept his invitation.

Finally, she puts his hand in his, her face remaining as unreadable as before. Hannibal’s smile becomes wider as his fingers close around hers. His thumb brushes over her knuckles, a gentle caress, and he watches with delight as one corner of her mouth turns up ever so slightly. He is still learning what she desires and enjoys, but he already knows she takes great pleasure in tenderness, even if she is unwilling to admit it. And he is more than happy to provide.

He leads her to the middle of the floor, their thumbs hooked, palms resting elegantly together, his other hand placed delicately on her exposed back. They begin to move, Hannibal leading her across the floor in a quick three. The smile does not vanish from his lips as they move gracefully, flowing together in perfect unison. They look in each other’s eyes and the people and lights blur into an insignificant haze around them.

“I want to dance with only you,” he states suddenly, slowing their dance and trying to see pass the guarded expression on her face, “It has always been you.”

The hand on her back slowly shifts to rest on the small of her back as he pulls her closer to him, uncaring if anyone’s watching them.

Bedelia gasps faintly, but does not pull away. They sway gently now, both enjoying the feel of their bodies so close together.

“We can leave if you wish to,” he offers sincerely.

Bedelia looks up at him, her gaze softer now, her chin nearly brushing his torso.

“No,” she says quietly and then, to his surprise, turns her cheek and rests it on his chest.

Hannibal can hear her sighing quietly, the sound inaudible to anyone but him, and feels her lips stretching into a smile against the fabric of his tuxedo.

“Anything you want,” he whispers against her hair, holding her close. And he has never meant anything more in his life.

 

Signora Lippi does not look for her husband. Instead, she finds the nearest waiter and is now standing near the doorway, away from the guests, emptying a glass of champagne in one mouthful.

As charming as Dottore Fell was, she is not sure if she can say the same about _his wife_. She does not know how the woman obtained the information that they managed to keep private for months now. Perhaps her husband’s tongue had slipped under the influence of alcohol, but she doubts it.

She should not have left so abruptly, but the exchange had left her uncommonly perturbed. The woman’s manners were flawless and there was no malice in her tone, but there was something about Mrs Fell that had unsettled her deeply.

She tries to shake off the sensation and focuses her attention on the couples dancing in the distance. It does not take her long to spot the Fells, gliding effortlessly on the chequered floor; she cannot deny that they are the most attractive couple there. Her eyes linger on Mrs Fell, sparkling fresh resentment and she considers getting another glass of champagne, when the couple suddenly slows down. She watches as the man pulls his wife closer and she rests her head on his chest. Eyelids fluttering close, a tiny smile plays on her lips; it is almost shy, so unlike the one the woman offered her before.

Her annoyance turns to sudden melancholy as she observes the couple in serene embrace. She wishes she remembered what it felt like to be that in love.

**Author's Note:**

> For Lena ♥ I am sorry Bedelia didn't pull anyone's hair, it is just not her style.  
> This is the first time I tried multiple POVs in one story, hope it works.  
> I envision this taking place during their first month together in Florence. I am terrible with names so the chairman and his wife were named after another Florentine Renaissance painter, Filippo Lippi.


End file.
